


Network

by Violsva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Danger Night, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/pseuds/Violsva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was all so much easier before he cared about people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Network

Mrs. Hudson says the internet will surely come back in its own time, dear, why don’t you come down and have a biscuit, no, she really doesn’t feel like trying their customer service at this time of night, well, really Sherlock!

John says er, John. is busy. Please leave a message after -

The violin screams at him and nearly jumps out of his hands, he’s going to throw it at the wall, he can’t, he needs it, he clutches it to him, this is stupid sentiment for an object, he closes it back in its case too quickly and does up all the snaps.

Molly no he can’t call Molly she wouldn’t mind but oh god no.

John says er, John. is busy. Please leave -

He opens the cupboard door, closes it, opens the one next to it, stares at it, closes it, the next, stares at it, there are biscuits he could, closes it, kicks the cupboard below, opens the fridge _eurgh, Sherlock, thumbs?_ , _why is there a head in the fridge_ closes it, leaves the kitchen, knocks over a fucking chair on the fucking way out for fuck’s sake _John’s rubbing off on you_ God why aren’t they _here_

He could call Mary, she said he could call him, in fact she insisted he call or text one of them but they are away for _a nice break from wedding planning_ and they are together and he is here and he can’t _save me_ and he can’t _turn my entire life around_ and he is _a genius_ and he is _all mysterious with your cheekbones_ and that is all he has ever had, looks and brains and _a personality like something that crawled out of a swamp_ and _freak_ and _show off_ and _smart arse_ and none of his abilities have ever been of any use for him technically that’s incorrect but they certainly aren’t now and he got rid of his own knife but there are more in the kitchen he turns back _no_ turns around again throws himself on the couch technically he could just _no_

Or he could go out, he could disguise himself, he likes disguises, coming up with one that would fool Mycroft would be a challenge, challenges are excellent even if they involve interfering siblings, go out and test it at once by going somewhere in the city Mycroft flat out will not allow him to go without a rock solid case as a reason he knows because he’s tried and a damned black car always comes up now John would object John would object at length and with profanity in fact John has also insisted that he call and he _has_ called and of course John has so many better things to do he has told Sherlock that repeatedly.

This was all so much easier before he cared about people. He went for so long without them and it was easy and he was ~~happy~~ ~~content~~ ~~comfortable~~ himself and he doesn’t know who he is now, someone who doesn’t need cases or cocaine he just needs _friends of course you go in for that sort of thing now_. The cases wouldn’t be enough even if he had one, he knows (but he doesn’t have one, crime is boring, existence is boring, and no qualities save those which are completely boring have any function on earth, what is the use of being a genius if you have no field on which to exert it), the cocaine he suspects might not be enough now, knows wouldn’t be enough the next day, it is the thought of _the next day_ that is keeping him clinging onto the sofa in spite of it all. He can’t be high then. There is a possibility that John and Mary will be here then.

John says er, John. is bus -

Mary says, “Hi, Sherlock?”

“Obviously, unless your caller ID has stopped working.”

“How are you feeling?” It isn’t small talk, she can read his voice, he’d forgotten, and he _likes_ that about her.

It does not stop him from snapping, “Fine.”

“Mmhmm?” A very small space holding an infinity of scepticism. “John’s just stepped out to ask about hiring a minicab for tomorrow. It’s been raining all day and his phone’s dead because he forgot to bring his charger so he’s a bit shirty about that.”

“I would have thought you’d be spending all your time inside anyway.”

“With John? Not for three full days of rain and no excitement. You know him. We’re looking forward to coming back.”

It’s almost enough. He wants to ask for more, and isn’t going to. He doesn’t need it, shouldn’t even be gaining comfort from the thread of a voice over a phone connection, isn’t going to _just ask, Sherlock, we love you, but we need to know what you need_ ask for anything she might not give him.

“I was going to bake right after we get back,” Mary says. “Something quick, of course -”

“Bake on Tuesday,” says Sherlock.

“Fine, right.” She’s smiling. “Monday afternoon we’ll cuddle you on the sofa and force you to watch some horrible brain-melting Doctor Who, how about that?”

A voice in the background, and the barely distinguishable words _James Bond_. “You know he won’t stand for Bond, dear. And then on Tuesday I’ll have time for the honey bread you like, and you can call Lestrade and bother him about giving you a case.”

“You’re coddling me.”

“You’re not an egg, Sherlock.” John says something in the background, no doubt intending to be funny, and Sherlock can picture Mary’s frown. He knows them. They know him, and they like him, and there are other people in the world, who will be here soon, people who think he is ... _the most human human being_ – yes, all right, fine, and Mary is saying something about wanting some time relaxing at home before her shift on Wednesday and that makes sense, damn it it makes sense and he will believe it.


End file.
